It's
turning into a bad week. Don't know how, don't know why, but things were
cruising along swimmingly and somewhere along the line, things started
to fall apart. I went from being happily content sitting in front of the
TV after work playing Tekken
Tag Tournament to wondering what the meaning of it is all about (life,
not Tekken Tag Tournament) and whether or not any of it is worth a damn
thing.

What
is it about winter that makes me so moody? I lived in Germany for three
years where 80 percent of the time the weather was stark and cold and
I don't remember feeling much ennui. So then I come to Texas, where it
was 112 degrees for about six months, and the first few weeks of cold
cloudy weather start making me feel like Steven Wright on quaaludes. What
is the fucking deal?

I
think part of it is tied to my making a decision about my next writing
project. That always fills me with anxiety. I started writing seriously
when I was 13 with the full intention of publishing my first bestseller
by the time I was 17 and retiring to a tropical paradise where I'd write
two novels a year from age 19 on. It hasn't quite worked out that way,
although I do count myself lucky for being able to make a living at writing
and editing. I see so many people struggling to make a buck doing freelance
work as a side gig to whatever horrendous day job keeps their rent checks
from bouncing and I feel glad that it wasn't that kind of struggle for
me.

But
it's another kind of struggle wondering what to do with what you have.
I know I can write. But what the hell do I do with it?

At
least I made a decision
on what to write: The short story/possible novel won out over the
play. It's just sitting down and doing it that will be the challenge.

So
here's something that pissed me off in a completely disproportionate way:
I was eating lunch at Fresh Planet, an add-on restaurant that sits on
top of a nearby Whole Foods supermarket. I'm all set to pick up my vermicelli
bowl with crispy chicken (it's delicious, by the way), and there on the
rack of napkins is this little sign:

Oh,
it's from The Trees! Well, shit, I feel bad taking any napkins
now. I mean, that's like using a tiger's spleen to wipe up soda from the
carpet, right?

In
fact, I should probably go into hiding because I work for a newspaper,
and we kill The Trees like there's no tomorrow. I throw away wads
of The Trees every day and sometimes they don't even end up in
the recycling basket. I am a sick, murderous motherfucker, say The
Trees.

But
before I could truly wallow in the guilt, I found a second note buried
inside the napkin holder. It was folded, and unlike the paper on top of
the holder, this was rough, pulpy paper with barely visible rings going
from the center outward. I opened it, curiously, and this is what the
note said:

Dear
Whole Foods/Fresh Planet:

To the Birkenstock-wearing, ponytailed employee who put up the sign
about not taking too many napkins. While we appreciate the concern,
would you please stick to flipping tofu burgers? As it happens, we don't
really give a shit about all the napkins because they actually contain
a lot less wood content than, oh, say all the wood beams that are holding
up your crappy little frou-frou restaurant.

In fact, I consulted with a few of my pals up on the West Side and they
say that back when Whole Foods first started building, a whole patch
of my cousins were uprooted and taken off the lot to make way for your
veggie enchiladas and whole wheat pancakes. And I know all about those
hundreds of little non-recycled-paper notebooks you use to write your
shitty-ass couplets for poetry slams and notes that you stick on SUVs
telling people to "Simplify." You know what? Your poetry sucks, man.
"Stupor" does not rhyme with "two-fer."

So you leave preserving nature's bounty to the Sierra Club and invest
in a new Dave Matthews Band T-shirt, okay? Because you smell, Jack.
I don't mind tree huggers, but if you come near me, I'll find some way
to vomit, even it means losing half my leaves.

Are we understanding each other? Good.

One
of The Trees

No Third
Watch recap this week. NBC pre-empted it for Dateline and
their Biblical Miniseries, Thou Shalt Grabbeth Low Ratings. There
should be a new episode and recap next week. Read Pamie
and Stee's
recap of the Pepsi Girl's TV movie, The
Miracle Worker. It's funny. Does anyone besides me think she looks
just like a mole? She's going to grow up to fear all light sources.

Stay sane this weekend. Don't piss off the trees. They can fall on your
car and kill you.